


Two Sides of a Coin: Right Side

by Tsukino_Akume



Series: Two Sides of a Coin [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukino_Akume/pseuds/Tsukino_Akume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was born from the sea in a mess of scars and pain and no memory of who he might have once been. After more than a year of searching the only thing that seemed to catch his attention was the Jaeger program. He never expected what would come of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer/:** If I owned it, this would likely be canon. Or at least the important parts of it.  
>  **Warnings/:** Language, possible semi-suspension of belief? (I'm trying really hard to make this idea believable; bear with me here. Or offer suggestions for things that don't seem to work.)  
>  **Author's Notes/:** So when I started this, my muses decided it needed two sides; hence the name. You can read one or the other or both, it doesn't really matter. It's just the way they demanded it be written. I bow to their wisdom.
> 
> Chuck is a jackass. We all know this. But I'm on board with the idea that he's not always a ***complete*** asshole, if you know how to read him. Which is how his role here came about.

His first memory was agony.

Every nerve was on fire. He couldn't even identify what hurt where. His brain felt like someone had tried to reach in and pull it out through his eye. And he had burning, insistent feeling that something was missing. Something desperately important. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness for nearly a month. His dreams were a confusing mess of lying in a hospital, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and dealing with injuries he knew he didn't have. Eventually the dreams shifted into watching some guy - ridiculously young, just a kid really - struggling with physical therapy and waves of well-meaning people trying to congratulate or comfort him. The more people visited, the more he watched the kid close himself off, shoving his emotions further and further down. It bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain. 

When he finally came to - ***really*** came to this time, he learned that he was in a clinic in a small town in Alaska. It was run by a man named Dr. Stoff, who perpetuated every small-town country doctor stereotype. (Which was Doc's analysis; not his own.) He'd been pulled from the ocean by a fishing boat, just barely rescued from being lost to Kaiju Blue. No one knew exactly how he'd ended up in the water, but it was suspected he'd somehow hit his head during the Kaiju attack and been nearly lost to sea. Doc insisted he was lucky to be alive. 

He ***was*** lucky, but he didn't feel it. The blow to his head had left him with a long scar curving along his jaw, up to his eyebrow and down toward the bridge of his nose, distorting his skin and leaving him partially blind in his right eye. The amount of water he'd inhaled had nearly killed him, and it was likely he'd struggle with lung infections for the rest of his life. 

Most importantly, the damage to his head had left him with absolutely no memory of who he was. 

There were no flashes, no lingering impressions of anything. Every picture he saw or book he read or person he met was utterly unfamiliar. Nothing clicked. None of the missing persons reports met his description. They searched farther, but there wasn't much point; few people filed reports after a Kaiju attack. It was like he'd been born the day he'd been pulled from the ocean. 

It was a depressing thought, but there was no record of him anywhere. Doc eventually started to make gentle hints about moving on, trying to learn a skill. Build a life for himself. 

One year and three months after waking from his coma, he took the name Jon Wasser and set off into the world. 

****

He found a job with the fishermen who'd rescued him. He didn't like the idea of going back to the same ocean that had nearly killed him, but there wasn't much else to be found for work. It gave him pay, something to do, and a chance to travel. 

He quickly learned that his hatred of the ocean wasn't going to go away any time soon. He also learned that he loved traveling. Something about it felt ... freeing. Like wandering might give him a chance to find what he was looking for. 

That feeling he'd woken with, that something important was missing, hadn't faded. It made him restless and irritable, constantly needing to keep moving or distract himself with work. Every port they stopped in, he found himself wandering at night, hoping desperately for just a hint of whatever it was. Maybe he wouldn't actually find it, but just even knowing what it ***was*** ... 

After four months with the boat, he finally found his first clue - on TV, of all places. The news was showing the latest Kaiju battle, in Hawaii. They were calling it Ceramander, but he wasn't interested in the Kaiju. He was interested in the Jaegers. 

More specifically, the young pilot the reporters were gushing about. Fresh out of the academy, youngest pilot on record, yada yada yada. The kid was practically preening for the cameras, his co-pilot lurking behind him with an irriated look on his face. 

They were wearing armor. 

One thing that had stuck with him was the strange black bodysuit he'd been wearing when he'd been pulled from the water. There had been a few scraps of white armor attached, badly burned and scratched to the point that what may have once been a logo on his shoulder was unrecognizable. One of the locals had said something about military, but without any missing persons reports or his own memory, getting in touch with anyone who might have been able to identify it was impossible. 

But that kid was wearing armor that looked suspiciously like what he'd been found in. And he was a Jaeger pilot. In Australia. 

He caught a boat to Sydney the next day. 

****

It was surprisingly easy to join a Jaeger crew. He had a few basic mechanical skills thanks to his time with the boat, and he'd updated most of the computer systems in Kenai mostly for something to do. He was far from an expert, but he was a fast learner, and crews always needed new people. They had a fast turnover rate, for several reasons. 

Working on Striker Eureka was strange. It felt both hauntingly familiar and incredibly foreign to him. Parts of the systems he knew almost instinctively, while others were like trying to read Chinese. He learned quickly, almost instinctively, to the point that it became a running joke among the mechanics that he should have been a pilot. He laughed it off, but some part of him almost resonated with the idea. 

He pushed it aside. He was a lot of things, but a pilot wasn't one of them. 

As for the real pilots, he'd only seen Herc Hansen in passing. The man was polite to his crew, but always on the run to deal with some sort of paperwork or issue with the higher-ups. The closest he ever really interacted with them was occasionally having lunch sent down for everyone after a long night of repairs. 

Chuck Hansen on the other hand, practically haunted the work bay. He knew most of the techs by name, and frequently pestered them for news about 'his boy'. He was a cocky, arrogant little shit and everyone knew it, but he treated his crew with surprising respect. They were all fond of him in their own ways. 

Personally, Jon found himself wanting to catch the brat in a headlock and give him a noogie. 

Their first meeting had been barely a month after Jon had joined the crew. He'd been bent over something, constantly pushing back his long hair as it fell into his face. He'd been so focused he hadn't even heard the kid coming until he was practically on top of him. 

"There's this thing called a haircut. You might want to look into it." 

He turned slightly to look at him, just enough to reveal the long scar and milky blue eye. His hair normally kept them covered, and his beard made up for what didn't. "I'll think about it," he returned dryly. 

Hansen didn't even blink. "We've all got scars, Mate. Some just aren't as visible as others." 

And then he walked away, leaving Jon staring after him thoughtfully. 

****

The one constant in his life seemed to be the dreams. They'd changed over the years, but they still came every night the instant he closed his eyes. It was always about the same kid, watching him plod through life like even breathing was a struggle. He saw the kid get pulled into work with a construction crew, watched him work in silence day after day until the job was done and he was let go with nothing else to do but find another crew and follow the wall. 

He watched the kid suffering, struggling to get out of bed each day, and found himself thinking at him. _Come on, Kid. You can get through this. Just keep moving._

He wasn't sure why he worried about a kid he'd never met, from a dream that didn't make any sense. Sometimes he wondered if it was linked to his old life. Maybe he was watching himself? 

But nothing became any clearer, and there wasn't exactly anyone he could ask about it. 

****

None of the higher-ups were sharing any words of what was going on, but they all knew. Rangers were dropping like flies and the Kaiju just kept coming. The wall was useless, and people were beginning to give up hope. All the crew could do was throw their efforts into keeping Striker in top condition and stay with the job as long as it was there. 

The move to Hong Kong was chaotic and frustrating. There had been a speech from Herc, about the Shatterdomes and the Jaeger program being closed down. The move was on Pentecost's orders, some last-ditch effort for a mission that was too classified to share. (Chuck stood behind him, rolling his eyes, until his father elbowed him in the gut without looking.) He understood if anyone decided to stay. 

No one did. 

The new Shatterdome didn't look any different, but the size was considerably bigger and easier to get lost in. There were three other crews to get used to now, and everyone treated each other warily and with suspicion, like separate factions in a war. Even the pilots seemed susceptible to it, taking meals with their own crews and generally avoiding one another. 

Jon prefered to eat alone, near Striker if he could manage it. Less trouble that way. He didn't get many stares at the scar anymore, but a new crowd always had bad manners. 

He'd been on his way to lunch in fact, when he heard the commotion in Kwoon. Curious despite himself, he stopped just outside to watch. There wasn't much to see, so he nudged one of the men in front of him he recognized. "What's going on?" 

Carver looked back at him like he was stupid. "Don't you pay attention, Mate? They're testing candidates for that old pilot the Marshall brought in." 

So that was it. He'd heard the rumors, about one of the old Jaegers being reactivated and some 'washed-up has-been' as the younger Hansen so endearingly put it (which was Chuck-Speak for 'I'm worried about the poor bastard getting himself in over his head'), being brought in. He hadn't seen the either of them yet, so he shifted to a better vantage point and stopped to watch. 

The kid was good, he'd give him that. He took down every opponent they gave him in less than a minute. Which seemed like a good thing, but from the annoyed look on the Marshall's face and all the muttering around him, it wasn't. 

Whatever was going on, the kid was clearly getting frustrated. Jon found himself shaking his head in sympathy. _Don't get cocky, Kid. Keep your head. Stay cool._

And surprisingly, the kid did. He stayed through every opponent until he was finally dismissed, bowing sharply to Pentecost and Miss Mori with a tight look on his face. People around him were still muttering, whispering things to each other like _"Obviously doesn't have it anymore"_ and _"Guess he just isn't good enough without his co-pilot"_. 

Jon felt another wave of sympathy as the problem finally clicked for him, glaring at the whisperers. _Of course it isn't working,_ he thought at them darkly. _You can't start a new Drift when you're still locked in with someone else._

The kid had put up his weapon, grabbed his shoes, and was trying to make his way through the crowd to escape. _Probably needs to lick his wounds a bit,_ Jon mused, not unkindly. _Poor kid._

The right side of his head tingled. 

He looked up without thinking, and his eyes caught blue. The Ranger was staring at him, pale and wide-eyed. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. 

He kept staring, and John frowned. _The hell's the matter with you Kid?_ he wondered. _What are you staring at?_

The kid jerked back like he'd been punched in the face, practically shaking, and nearly ran from the room. 

Jon stared after him in confusion. For some reason, he felt strangely ... hurt.


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'genders' of the Jaegers were decided on after some careful debate. Gipsy's always been referred to as 'she' in the movie, but none of the others seem to be. (At least that I can recall.) I know that generally speaking most of them probably ***would*** be referred to the same way, but after looking at pictures of the three of them, Chrono's style just screamed masculine to me. I hesitated on Crimson and Striker, but Striker seems like a stockier, more masculine version of Gipsy. Crimson seems kind of androgynous? (Masculine arms, feminine legs? x.x) But in the end I kind of like the idea of Gipsy being the only 'girl' in the group.

_He dreamed the world was ending._

_He watched it on TV, in a room filled with worn but comfortable furniture. A woman's voice called out something he couldn't understand, and he felt himself respond with 'We're ***watching*** it, Ma!" _

_A boy with cropped blond hair sat hunched over just in front of the screen, close enough to nearly block his view. He debated dragging him back so he could see better and decided against it. Without looking he somehow knew that the kid's eyes were wide with fascination and fear._

_"You know what I'm thinking," flickered through his mind._

_"I'm in your brain," he heard himself retort. "I know."_

_The boy and the TV and living room vanished, leaving him surrounded by darkness thick enough that he could barely see his own hands in front of his face._

_All he could hear was single word, echoing over and over. He couldn't make out what it was; he just instinctively *knew* that someone was calling for him. He tried to shout back, but his throat closed up. The harder he tried the tighter it became, and suddenly he was choking and throwing up blue liquid that burned and his entire body felt like it was simultaneously melting and on fire._

His eyes snapped open, leaving him staring at the ceiling of the room he shared with three other crew members. After a long moment, he reached up to rub at his face with a sigh. "Well, that was new," he muttered to himself. 

It was early, but close enough to the usual waking time for crew that he got up anyway, stealing into the bathroom while his roommates continued snoring away. _Lucky bastards_ , he thought grumpily. He'd never been much of a morning person. 

He spent his shower and breakfast wondering about the dream. A memory, maybe? The kid could be a sibling, or a friend. Maybe his own, for all he knew. But the words ... that was ***weird***. Like someone's voice in his head, whispering to him. A young guy from the sound, full of energy and enthusiasm. There'd been feelings of _exasperation_ and strong _affection_ when he'd heard himself reply. 

The end, though ... not only had it been painful - and more than slightly creepy - but he'd recognized the blue liquid the moment he was awake: Kaiju Blue. He'd been dreaming about choking on Kaiji blood. Memories from the ocean, maybe? He'd nearly drowned in the shit, after all. 

Given his distraction, he was more slightly surprised to find the kid from the day before standing in front of Striker Eureka. He watched him suspiciously for a moment, but the kid just stood there, watching it almost contemplatively. He seemed to be lost in thought. 

He'd have let him be, but the rest of the crew would be coming soon, and not everyone would appreciate having a stranger around their boy. "It's not a good idea to get caught checking out someone else's ride you know," he spoke up, approaching slowly. 

The kid must have been ***really*** lost in thought; he tensed up like a bowstring at the sound of his voice. 

"Personally I don't have a problem with it," he went on, hoping to put the kid at ease, "But there's been some issues between crews." 

The kid seemed to struggle for a moment. "Why is that, anyway?" he asked finally. 

He chuckled, because he'd wondered the same thing more than once. "Hell if I know. Personal pride, maybe. Guess we're all a little too proud of our boys." He glanced up at Striker, smiling fondly. 

"Gipsy's a girl." 

He shrugged, giving a lopsided half-smile that made his face hurt. It was the most he was able to do these days. "To each their own," he returned, amused. He'd never heard anyone else in the Shatterdome refer to their Jaeger as a she, but then again, Cherno Alpha was a fairly masculine machine, and Crimson Typhoon's crew seemed to feel the same way about their boy. There'd been some debate on Striker in the beginning from what he'd heard, but the younger Hansen had reportedly threatened grievous bodily harm to anyone who referred to his partner as anything but male. 

He turned to smile at the kid, only to realize he was being stared at again. The kid's face wasn't quite as pale as it'd been yesterday, but there was a tight, pinched look to it, like he was trying to force himself to be pleasant. It wasn't a good look for him. 

His eyes narrowed as he finally realized what the problem was. "Sorry. Didn't realize you had a problem talking to mechanics," he said shortly. Most pilots didn't - not these days, anyway. They knew who was watching their ass out there. But there was always some asshole who thought he was better than everyone else. 

Shaking his head in disgust as the kid continued to remain silent, he headed for the detail sheet to see what needed to be done today. He had things to do. He had his own Rangers to watch out for. 

****

He spent most of the day in a foul mood. It wasn't just from the kid's attitude this morning, but he couldn't really put his finger on what else was bothering him. Not knowing why he was irritated only set him off even more, and he ended up snapping at anyone who spoke to him, which only annoyed him further because he ***knew*** he was being unreasonable. 

He settled for spending the day working on the most involved parts of Striker's systems, the kind that left him half inside the old boy and covered in grease. It was also the sort of work that required someone having to actually go in and ***get*** him if something was wrong, which they rarely did short of a Kaiju attack. It left him with nothing to do but focus on what he was doing in peaceful silence. 

It was late in the day when he finally finished, emerging sometime around dinner and even more grease-soaked than he'd expected. He stretched, yawning and feeling the pleasant ache of a hard day's work. _Food_ , he decided idly. _Food, a long shower, and an early night in bed. Sounds like heaven._

He logged himself out of Striker's system and was intending to do just that when movement near Gipsy's bay caught his eye. He paused, frowning, and squinted. Was that ... was there a ***person*** up there? 

He strained his eyes for another minute before finally giving in and heading over to see. Whoever they were was an idiot, but he wasn't in the mood to be blamed for not warning someone else about their own stupidity. What kind of moron took a nap on the back of a Jaeger, anyway? 

Apparently the Ranger kind, he discovered. He nearly groaned in frustration at the sight of the kid stretched out on the back of Gipsy Danger's neck like it was an oversized lawn chair. For a moment he debated walking away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The kid may be stupid, but they did need him. 

He headed up for the catwalk above Gipsy's head, eyeing the bodywork as he went and mentally comparing it to Striker's. There were similarities here and there, but it was easy to see the upgrades that had put into the newer model. Gipsy wasn't bad looking for an old girl, though. 

He stopped at a spot barely five feet away from the kid, folding his arms and studying the brooding look on his face as he stared off into the distance. "That's a really stupid place to be sitting," he said finally, keeping his voice low because he knew the idiot hadn't heard him coming. 

There was a pause, a start, and the kid spent a few moments looking around before finally turning upward and blinking at him. "What?" 

"That's a stupid place to be sitting," he repeated, trying not to sigh. "You could break your neck if you slip." 

The kid rolled his eyes. "That's rich coming from a guy who makes a living climbing all over one of these." 

He raised his eyebrow, tempted to tell him how much he reminded him of the younger Hansen. He suspected the kid wouldn't be as amused as he was. "That's why ***we*** wear harnesses." _Genius_ , he added silently. 

He'd been expecting another smartass reply. Instead the kid stiffened, his face seeming to pale a little as his hands turned into fists. Even from where he was, he could see the kid's jaw clench and his eyes darken. 

Right. He'd forgotten about the stick up his ass. "Sorry," he forced out after a moment, just barely managing not to sneer at him. "Forgot myself there." 

The kid muttered something as he turned, but he didn't care to listen for what it was. There was a metallic scrambling noise. "Wait!" 

He turned just in time to see the kid slip. He lunged, catching his wrist and pulling him up next to him, heart pounding. "Shit, kid! You trying to get yourself killed?!" 

The kid flinched back like he'd been punched. 

He sighed, feeling a faint trace of guilt. He may be an ass, but he'd probably just scared a few years off his life with that stunt. "Right. Sorry. Just be more careful next time. We can't afford to lose guys like you these days." 

" ***Wait***!" 

He turned the moment he felt a hand on his wrist, moving almost instinctively. He was tempted to start swinging, but the kid was already shifting slowly into a fighting stance, looking wary. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I don't have a problem with crewmen. I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression." 

Like he wasn't still giving it now. "So it's just me you don't like, then," he observed. "Good to know." 

"It's not that!" the kid insisted. He huffed and looked away, clearly irritated. "I just ... you remind me of someone. That's all." 

He nodded slowly, not entirely sure he believed it. He didn't think the kid was lying exactly, but something about the way he said it seemed off. Like there was something else he wasn't saying. "Sorry about that, then. I'll leave you in peace, Kiddo." 

The kid flinched again, turning another few shades paler. "Please don't call me that." 

Jon paused, glancing back at the soft, broken sounding whisper. 

The kid swallowed. "I, uh ... " He faulted. "Just ... don't." 

He nodded again unsure what to think now. 'Kiddo' had slipped out; he didn't even know what made him say it. But the pain in the kid's voice sounded genuine enough. "Sorry." 

He'd thought that'd be the last of it, but he'd only made it a few feet when he heard "Hey. What's your name, anyway?" 

He looked back at him, surprised. "Jon Wasser," he said after a moment. 

The kid tried to smile, but it looked like someone was twisting his arm to make him do it. "Raleigh Becket. And thanks." 

He nodded one more time, heading back down to the ground and his shower. 

_Raleigh. What a weird name._


	3. Bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's last name is snagged from Google Translate; the pronunciation is my understanding of how they say it there.

Jon was having a shit day.

It started out simple enough. Up early, grab something from the mess, and eat on the way to Striker's bay. Check in, see the day's work log, decide which jobs to take on. 

Welding was not his strong suit. Never had been. There were a few other jobs available he could have taken, but for some reason he found himself signing up for that one. He actually paused when he'd realized what he'd done, but finally shrugged it off. He could get by. 

Which he did, until just after lunch. 

It wasn't a bad burn - he'd been wearing most of his gear - but he'd been stupid enough to grab a rod that was still hot to keep it from falling. Instead he ended up with a burnt hand, swearing up a storm and trying to reign it in long enough to yell a warning for anyone below. His crew chief was ***not*** amused. 

He spent the next three hours in medical being told how much of an idiot he was by doctors. Because ***obviously*** he'd done it on purpose. And of course he couldn't ***possibly*** understand how lucky he was to have only lost one layer of skin. 

He didn't know how he managed to keep from punching anyone's face in. It was probably because he was in too much pain, but he told himself it was self-control. Self control sounded better. 

They finally let him go just in time for dinner, but he skipped it anyway. He wasn't interested in fighting any lines, and hours of smelling antiseptic had pretty much killed his appetite. He headed back to the relative peace of Striker's bay instead. He technically wasn't on duty again until he'd been cleared by medical, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. 

He spent some time straightening things up and cleaning the mess he'd made earlier. It was annoying with only one hand, but the challenge gave him something else to focus on. There wasn't a lot he could do though, and he eventually found himself heading up to one of the catwalks he usually haunted, leaning on the railing and staring out at Striker as his thoughts wandered. 

"Hey! Vaser!" 

Damn. The kid was back. 

He glanced at the kid as he approached, frowning at him. "It's 'va-sah'," he corrected. 

The kid grinned, ducking his head a little in a way that practically demanded a noogie. "Ah, sorry. Must have misunderstood you yesterday. That's German, isn't it?" 

It was, but he didn't feel like explaining why he'd named himself 'Jon Water'. He turned to stare at him. "What do you want, Becket?" 

Maybe he could glare him away? 

The kid shrugged and shifted a little, like he was trying to project an air of innocence. "We got off on the wrong foot before, and I was hoping to change that." His eyes practically oozed sincerity. 

He was seriously tempted to hit him. "Bullshit." 

The kid blinked. "Excuse me?" 

"You're lying," he told him bluntly, picturing smacking him upside the head just for being a little shit. He was a terrible liar. "What do you really want?" 

He watched him sputter for a few minutes, trying to spout off excuses, and waited until the kid finally cracked. He sighed, ducking his head again. "Look, I wasn't kidding when I said you remind me of someone. I was hoping if we took some time to get to know each other better, I might - " He cut himself off. "It might help." 

He let the kid stew as he debated. He really was ***not*** in the mood for company. But Becket had this hopeful kicked puppy look, and ... damn it. Maybe if he gave the kid a chance, he'd turn out to be not such an asshole? Or at least someone he could tolerate, if he kept insisting on hanging around him? 

He sighed and leaned on the railing. "What do you want to know?" 

Becket practically lit up, beaming at him. It definitely didn't help the puppy image he was getting. "Well, first off, what happened to your hand?" 

He made a face and huffed out a sigh. The kid ***would*** ask about that. "Welding burn. Happened after lunch." 

Becket winced. "How many layers you lose?" 

"One." He eyed him. 

He got a self-deprecating smile. "I worked in construction for awhile. Welding burns were some of the lighter injuries." 

"That must've sucked." 

"Royally," Becket said wryly. "So where are you from?" 

"Alaska." It was close enough to the truth. Becket looked startled, so he clarified. "Kenai. You've probably never - " 

"You're shitting me!" Becket protested, looking torn between excited and slightly worried. "I grew up in Anchorage!" 

He raised his eyebrow, surprised the kid actually knew where he was talking about. "Small world." 

It was clear Becket wanted more, so he told him about working with computers and his time on the boat. He talked about joining the Jaeger program, but when he asked what made him chose it, he said he couldn't just stand back and watch anymore. It wasn't entirely true, but it still felt ... ***right*** somehow. And he was proud of what he'd done. Maybe he wasn't out on the front lines, but what he did ***mattered***. 

Surprisingly, he saw Becket nod, looking solemn. "Yeah," he said softly. "Building the wall ... It was something I did just for something to do, y'know? Because Yance ... " His voice cracked slightly, and he blinked for a moment. "My brother wouldn't have wanted me to just give up." He shrugged. "I can't say I'm doing anything here ***now*** , but ... before?" A faint smile flickered across his face. "Saving people's lives, doing something that not just anyone can do ... what higher calling is there than that?" 

He nodded back slowly. "There isn't one." 

"Oi! Becket!" 

He turned to see the younger Hansen stalking toward them looking ready to blow steam out his ears. He swore inwardly, already searching for something to placate the kid, but it wasn't him Chuck was glaring at - it was Becket. "Ya botherin' my tech?!" 

"I'm not bothering him - " 

"We're just having a conversation, Ranger Hansen," he interrupted, because Becket was looking frustrated and Chuck was clearly pissed. "It's fine." 

For a moment he honestly thought he'd be stepping in the middle of a fight. Chuck was still coming at them, while Becket was getting increasingly irritated. _If either of them hits my hand, ***I'll*** be the one who starts throwing punches,_ he thought darkly. 

And then Chuck froze. 

He waited, but Chuck just ... stood there. Staring. Confused, he glanced at Becket, but he looked just as lost as he was. "Something wrong, Hansen?" Becket asked warily. 

Chuck seemed to be struggling for words. He wondered briefly if he should take pictures of this phenomenon; it was doubtful anyone had ever seen it before, or likely would again. Chuck Hansen at a loss had to be one for the record books. 

Finally Chuck jerked himself around to lean over the railing. Jon actually wondered if he was going to be sick, but he was yelling down at one of the techs. " ***Oi***! Venrick! Get my dad and the marshall up 'ere! Now!" 

When he pulled back around to stare at them again, he really did look like he was going to be sick. "They're gonna wanna see this," he muttered. 

Becket shook his head, glancing at him again. "See what?" 

Jon shrugged wordlessly in response. 

They didn't have long to wait. Venrick had always been good at making a big deal out of nothing, and Jon seriously suspected that Chuck would have chased them down himself if he hadn't suceeded. The kid was a wreck, gawking at them both one minute, fidgeting awkwardly the next. Becket repeatedly tried to ask him what was wrong, but whenever it looked like Chuck might actually get the words out, he would just shake his head. 

"This had better be good, Ranger Hansen," the marshall growled as he and Hansen senior finally came toward them. 

Chuck swallowed. "Believe me it is, Sir." 

Before anyone could ask, he took a step back, making a wide, sweeping gesture toward Jon and Becket. "I found Becket's co-pilot." 

Herc Hansen looked incredulous. "What are you on about, Chuck?" 

Chuck scowled at him. "Look, would ya just - ***look*** , all right? At least tell me ya see what I see." 

Pentecost sighed, moving closer. "And just what am I supposed to be - " And then he froze, exactly the same way Chuck had. 

Herc came up behind him, eyes widening. "Well, I'll be damned," he breathed. "S'a bloody miracle." 

"Or something like it," Pentecost murmured. 

Something shifted beside him, and Jon turned to see that Becket had begun to shake - literally. "That's ... that's enough, Sir," he said quietly. "The joke's gone a little too far don't you think? Ha ha, very funny!" The laughter came out oddly high-pitched, and his eyes were wild. 

Pentecost's expression was strangely blank. "I assure you Mr. Becket, no one is joking." 

"No, this is a joke," Becket insisted. "It ***has*** to be a joke because my brother is ***dead*** and _this isn't fucking funny anymore!_ " 

Jon honestly couldn't say what made him do it. His hand was just suddenly on Becket's wrist. Not restraining, just ... there. 

Becket jumped like a scalded cat and ran. 

He'd taken half a step after him - and he still wasn't sure why he was doing it, but Herc's voice reigned him in. "Mr. Wasser." 

He glanced back, feeling suddenly wary without knowing why. 

Herc looked grim. "I think we need to 'ave a talk, don't you?"


	4. Depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and its Left Side counterpart turned out very different, so I'd recommend reading both if you want the full story.
> 
> I'm guessing if Newt has the skills and technology to compare DNA on Kaiju samples, he could probably do some testing on humans standing in front of him. At least that's the excuse I'm going with.

Realistically, the wait for news wasn't long. Having their own biologist on staff sped up the process that probably should have taken days, and Newt was more than happy to drop what he'd been doing to help. Not to mention having a walking sample of Becket DNA sitting five feet away from him, looking ready to jump out of his skin. They'd really only been here just over an hour.

Not so realistically, it felt like an eternity. 

Everyone who saw him next to Becket stopped to stare. Pentecost had already tried to demand answers he didn't have to give. Herc Hansen was furious about the whole thing; he wasn't really sure why, and he wasn't keen on asking. Chuck was still lurking around, watching them with something between awe and discomfort. Whatever it was they thought they saw in him when he stood next to Becket, everyone seemed pretty damned convinced of it. 

Well, everyone except Becket himself. 

It had taken an order from the Marshall and sending Miss Mori after him to track Becket down after he ran earlier. He'd come back for the testing, but he hadn't said anything beyond a single "Yes, Sir." His didn't visibly shake anymore, but he looked incredibly tense and wild-eyed. 

Jon wasn't sure what to think. 

On the one hand, this was exactly what he'd always wanted to know. If it was true - and everyone seemed to think it was - then he had a name. He had a family, and a past. He had an ***identity***. He wasn't just some guy dragged half-dead out of the ocean anymore. 

But on the other hand ... how much would he be giving up? Maybe Jon Wasser didn't have a past, but he'd worked hard to get where he was. He had a steady job doing something he enjoyed, something that made a difference in the world. Not a lot of friends, but the few he did get along with were decent people. From what little he'd gotten so far, this 'Yancy Becket' they seemed to think he was, was some kind of celebrity. Practically everyone seemed to know who he was, and he could already hear awed whispers of how he'd survived. How did he know he even ***wanted*** to be this guy? Would they even give him a chance to decide before they slapped him on the back and gave him his name? 

His thoughts were broken by the sound of the door being thrown open. Newt hurried out of the lab, throwing up a hasty salute to Pentecost. "Sir! I've finished the testing." His eyes flickered to Jon. 

Jon's stomach sank. 

"Well?" Pentecost demanded. 

"It's official, Sir." Newt sounded solemn, but his eyes were bright with discovery. "DNA analysis shows that Ranger Becket and Jon - er, Mr. Wasser are a match. They're related." 

The world seemed to be closing in on him. He was suddenly hyperaware of sound of his own breathing, slow and ragged. His muscles tensed painfully, and everything seemed distant and cold. 

Newt was still talking. He wanted to yell at him to shut the hell up, to stop talking, _we get it already, damn it!_ But the words stuck in his throat. 

"I can't exactly compare Jon's - er, Mr. Wasser's DNA to Yancy Becket himself, but all his physical characteristics and known genetic markers match, so unless Raleigh's got a half-brother somewhere we didn't know about - " 

_Oh, fuck I hope not,_ he thought distantly. 

"The ***point*** , Dr. Geiszler." 

" - He ***is*** Yancy Becket." 

_No, I'm not,_ he tried to say. _I'm Jon. I'm just ... just Jon._

There was some sort of commotion as Becket got up. He thought he might have gone into the lab for some reason, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy listening to the sound of his own breathing, trying to make sure it was really there, and he was really awake and this wasn't all a dream. 

"Wasser?" 

He blinked twice, and Chuck was crouched in front of him, frowning. The kid stared at him for a long moment. "You want me ta beat the shit out of 'im for ya?" he offered, jerking his head down the hall, where he could just see Becket's back before he disappeared. 

He snorted before he was even really aware of it. "No. No, I ... " He shook his head, chuckling a little. "It's fine, Ranger Hansen. I ... I'm fine." 

"Ya sure?" 

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." 

Chuck looked vaguely disappointed, but he nodded. "If ... " He faltered a little, then firmed his chin. "If you need anythin' - " 

Jon nodded, managing a faint smile. "I'll let you know." 

He took a deep breath through his nose, suddenly very aware of exactly how many people were still in the hallway outside the labs, and exactly how many of them were watching him. He stood abruptly. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk." 

He'd just made it around the corner when he heard someone call after him. "Wasser! ***Wait*** , Mr. Wasser!" 

Turning, he saw Dr. Gottlieb hurrying toward him, puffing slightly from exertion. He stopped, waiting patiently as the doctor caught up with him. Dr. Gottlieb held up a finger, taking a moment to lean heavily on his cane as he stopped to catch his breath. 

"Here," he said finally, shoving a folder into his hands. For a moment he looked like he might say something more, but finally he just gave a short nod before heading back to the labs at a much slower pace. 

Jon watched him for a moment before dropping his gaze to the file. 

_Ranger Becket, Y.A._

He stared at it for the longest time. Eventually he tucked it under his arm and headed for Striker's holding bay. There was always work to be done somewhere, and he was going to find it. 

****

"Get the hell out o' my work bay!" 

He backed away swiftly, keeping his hands raised defensively. "I swear Boss, I didn't - " 

"And if I see ya back 'ere before Medical releases ya, I'll double yer leave!" Ericson bellowed, waving a wrench at him. 

Jon sighed as the door sealed in front of him. Work was a lot harder to find when he was still on medical restriction. He'd honestly forgotten about it in the earlier excitement, right up until he'd been caught trying to sign in to check the work log and swearing at the system for refusing to let him in. 

Without work to do, he found himself wandering for awhile. His room wouldn't be any less crowded than anywhere else in the Shatterdome. Word about the test results had clearly gotten around already, as damn near everyone he passed stared at him. Where the hell could a man go for some peace and quiet around here? 

He eventually hid himself on the landing pad outside, behind a stack of crates wedged off to the side. 

Okay. So he had a name. A very famous name, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He had a kid brother who was possibly mentally unstable and likely hated him. What else did he have? 

He eyed the file he was still carrying. _Well, gotta start somewhere._

It wasn't a long read. Name, birthdate, stock Academy photo. Some basic statistics and simulation scores. Assigned to Gipsy Danger, partnered with Raleigh Becket - which explained a few things. Five deployments, four kills. There was one discipline incident noted, about a bar fight with Ranger R. Becket. He was slightly curious about the story behind it. 

The longest entry was at the end: a report about the events that lead to his 'death'. He skimmed through it, frowning at the bland summary of how they had 'blatantly disobeyed orders', ultimately putting themselves into a situation they couldn't handle. The list of injuries to the surviving pilot and Gipsy Danger was frightening; it described him as 'out of touch with reality', 'holding on to his brother's memory', and 'unable to function in a military setting'. 

He snapped the file shut with a scowl. _Shit, no wonder the kid went missing for five years. Assholes._

For some reason, that was when it finally hit him: he had a brother. 

They'd told him, and he nodded along like he understood. People stared at them together because they supposedly looked alike. He couldn't really see it, but he rarely saw much of anything past the damn scar - which made a hell of a lot more sense now that he knew where it came from. Becket had mentioned having a brother, but it hadn't really clicked that it was ***him*** before. 

He had a brother who knew where he came from in more detail than some stupid military report. Who could tell him things like where he grew up and what his parents looked like and if he'd always wanted to be a Ranger. Who knew why he'd wound up half-dead on a beach and wouldn't sum it up in some dry report that practically blamed it on his own stupidity. 

He stood up, heading for exactly where he knew his little brother would be.


	5. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the last chapter. But fear not! There shall be an epilogue to help wrap things up. ^_~

Jon sighed contentedly as he meticulously checked the wiring on one of the conn-pod panels. Three days away from Striker had been an eternity. It felt good to finally get back to work.

It hadn't been a ***bad*** three days exactly. Just ... awkward. ***Really*** awkward. 

Raleigh was a nice enough guy. Friendly, eager to help. His social skills weren't all that much better than Jon's own these days, but he tried. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, and Jon liked him well enough. 

But Raleigh wanted a big brother. More specifically, he wanted ***his*** big brother. He was full of information about Yancy Becket's childhood and personality and likes and dislikes, and he was more than happy to share stories about all the shit they'd gotten up to as kids. And every time, his eyes would be searching Jon's, hoping to spark something. Hoping he'd start to remember who Yancy was. 

And every time Jon didn't, that hopeful spark would die just a little more. 

He did ***want*** to remember. ... Most of the time. When it was just him and Raleigh? He wanted to remember who the man in front of him was - not just be told, but to ***know***. To remember watching him grow up, and call bullshit whenever he left out an embarrassing detail from one of the stories he told. To remember why they were so close, and what made this kid so special to him. To give him a noogie and not feel weird about it. 

The problem came whenever they were around other people. ***Everyone*** was constantly staring at them, whispering right in front of them like they weren't supposed to hear. Raleigh seemed to be able to tune them out, but for Jon being the center of attention like this was torture. Hell, one of the kids who'd come in with Crimson's crew had actually asked him for his _autograph_ yesterday. And for what? Not being dead? 

"Mornin', Wasser." 

He glanced up. "Morning, Ranger Hansen." 

Chuck shifted his feet a little, nodding to the panel he was working on. "Everythin' all right?" 

"Just standard maintenance. Nothing to worry about." 

Chuck nodded again, shifting his weight. 

Jon sighed. "What is it?" 

The kid jumped slightly, giving him a startled stare before he seemed to shake himself. "I'm just, eh ... Got sent to deliver ya a message. Marshall wants ya ta report to the Drivesuit Room at 0900." 

He blinked at him. "Why?" 

Chuck stared. " ... Please tell me yer jokin', mate." 

He stared back. "Why would I be needed in the Drivesuit Room? I specialize in Jaeger systems, not Drivesuits." 

Chuck was still staring. After a moment he pressed a hand over his face, muttering into his palm. 

Jon frowned. "What was that?" 

"Because yer supposed to be doin' a test run with Becket, ya bloody moron!" 

"Wait, ***what***?!" 

****

Raleigh was babbling. 

Which, on the one hand, Jon could understand. He was nervous, too. They may have ***told*** him he'd Drifted before, but that didn't mean he remembered what it was like or how it really worked. And hell, who knew what might happen? Neither of them were exactly running with a full deck these days. 

He did get where the marshall was coming from, though. The clock was still counting down, and they had only a few days before the mission. They had four Jaegers and three sets of pilots; they couldn't afford not to take the chance. 

"Raleigh," he interrupted finally, shooting him a mild glare. "I get it." 

The kid immediately went quiet, but the wounded puppy eyes were in full force, and Jon tried not to groan. He wasn't trying to be mean about it, but damn it, having Raleigh freak out on him was _not. Helping._

What the hell did he know about Drifting? He understood it from the Jaeger's standpoint, of how the pilots' minds linked into the Jaeger's movements. He could tell when the Drift system was ready for neural handshake. But actually Drifting himself? Offering up what was left of his mind and his memories to this guy he was still getting to know? 

He could practically feel the _worry_ seeping off Raleigh. The kid had said something once, about pilots knowing what each other were thinking. Which sounded kind of creepy to him, but what did he know? 

He couldn't hear what was going through the kid's head at the moment, but he didn't have to. He could see the way his eyes flickered back and forth around the room. He had tensed up so bad the techs were struggling to lock in his Drivesuit. 

" _Raleigh_ ," he growled. "Shut. Up." 

There was something bizarre about stepping into a conn-pod wearing a Drivesuit. He'd always come in as a mechanic, dragging a toolbox behind him and heading for whatever he was logged in to do. Walking in as a pilot was ***Weird***. Kind of like wearing the emperor's clothes. 

"You, uh. You mind if I take the right side?" he heard Raleigh ask. "My left arm doesn't work so good anymore." 

He shrugged, not really caring. It was probably better that way; lead pilots always took the right. Better to have someone who actually knew what the hell they were doing on that side. "Sure." 

Stepping into the feet felt weird on a level that even just walking in hadn't. Now he wasn't just wearing someone else's clothes; he had his shoes on the wrong feet. The systems were all things he knew, but the whole thing was just ... _wrong_. 

_But ... things really aren't the way they're supposed to be anymore now, are they?_

He turned to look at Raleigh, wondering if the kid felt as off as he did and if it was a bad sign. Drift compatibility was all about being in sync with each other, right? He sure as hell wasn't comfortable were he was. 

On the bright side, Raleigh wasn't shaking anymore. He was pale, bordering on slightly green. And he kept looking at the screen in front of him anxiously, like wasn't sure of what he was reading. 

Jon felt a little bad. He'd been so busy trying to keep himself calm and trying to get Raleigh to stop yapping he'd ignored the fact that the kid had every right to be freaking out. Hell, hadn't he read what had happened to him the last time he was here? 

"Hey," he spoke up. Raleigh jumped, looking at him with wide eyes, and he managed a smile, hoping it looked reassuring. "Relax, Kid. We got this." 

_"All right there boys, you hear me?"_

Raleigh reached forward and turned on the com. "Loud and clear, Brother," he answered, sounding distracted. Then he winced for some reason. 

_"All right then, let's do this. Initiating neural handshake in 3 ... 2 ... 1."_

His brain exploded. 

_"Ready to step inside my head kid?"_

_Raleigh! "Raleigh, listen to me! You have to - "_

_One step after another, Kiddo. That's it. One more. Again. You can do it, Rals. Just keep moving._

_"We're ***watching*** it Ma!"_

_"We will grind you to ***dust*** , and only when we ***fail*** to do so will we find the stuff of legend -- like the D'onofrio's and the Gage twins - "_

_"Where do you want to die, Mr. Becket? Here? Or in a ***Jaeger***?"_

_Blue eyes, so painfully familiar, and_ God, why did he still see him ***everywhere***?! 

Stop it, _he snarled at himself silently._ Pull yourself together. You're just projecting his face onto some poor guy who doesn't even want to know what the hell's wrong with you. 

_"Then find me someone who's actually compatible!" he shouted back. "What the hell am I even doing here?! Your little tests are a joke!"_

_"The mechanics climb around on her all the time, Yance. It's perfectly safe."_

_"Sorry. Didn't realize you had a problem talking to mechanics."_

_A sharp stab of firey pain shot through his left hand. He yelped, dropping his staff and rolling out of the way of the incoming strike before it could catch him in the neck. Mori backed off immediately, while he turned to stare at his hand in confusion, hissing slightly as he tried to shake the tingling from his fingers. "Shit!"_

_"Is it true?" Jin asked abruptly. "What they say about your brother's death?"_

_" ... It was Yancy's favorite."_

_"Look, I wasn't kidding when I said you remind me of someone. I was hoping if we took some time to get to know each other, I might - "_ Stop seeing his face every time I look at you? _"It might help."_

_"No, this is a joke. It ***has*** to be a joke because my brother is ***dead*** and this isn't fucking funny anymore!" _

_"What if I'm dreaming again?"_

_I gave up and waited to die._

When everything cleared, he was down on one knee, holding his throbbing head, and wishing he could be unconscious. 

_Yance?_

_... Yeah. I'm here, Kiddo._

_***Shit*** , that hurt._

_Tell me about it._

Kiddo, he remembered abruptly. He called him Kiddo because it pissed Raleigh off to no end at first, having his age shoved in his face. But over time it had become more of an affectionate nickname, because no matter how Raleigh fought it he was ***his*** kid and had been for years. 

He remembered Raleigh. He remembered Gipsy, and _Holy fuck_ he remembered. He remembered _everything_. 

_What the hell happened? And where are we?_

_I'm still a bit fuzzy on the details, but I know we're in Gipsy_ , he offered, still holding his head. Shit, migraine was not a strong enough word. _And I'm thinking we need to kill Pentecost._

_Seconded._

_"Gipsy! Raleigh, Jon, can you hear me!?"_

" ... Yeah," Raleigh answered finally, sounding like something had died in his throat. "We hear you, Tendo. We're ... we're all right." 

_"What the hell happened?!"_

"I think Gipsy gave us both a sledgehammer to the head, that's what happened," he bitched, unable to help himself. He understood - sort of - what had happened. And he was grateful, because he _knew_ now. But fucking hell, it felt like his skull had been split open. 

"You all right?" Raleigh asked, looking over at him. 

He could see the exact moment Raleigh finally realized what had happened. He froze, his eyes going painfully wide. He looked torn between hopeful and terrified. 

"Yeah. I'm all right. Everything's good." He looked at his brother, making sure to catch his eyes and sending gentle waves of _affection_ and _reassurance_ along the mental link between them. It felt raw and unused, but it was still there, and using it was instinctive. _We'll talk about it later, Rals._

There were tears in Raleigh's eyes. His emotions were jumbled, filtering weakly through the link in a blur of _hope-fear-caution-need-hope._ "Yance - " 

_Later, Kiddo_ , he soothed. _I promise. We got a test to finish._

Raleigh nodded, giving a weak, teary smile. Pure _joy_ radiated from his eyes. "Right."


End file.
